


victory anthem

by meikai



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Psychological Trauma, Self-Harm, Self-Immolation, Suicide, Tragedy, War, burning human beings, pulling ideologies out of my ass, rated m but not smut? geez who would read this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 12:27:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17001651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meikai/pseuds/meikai
Summary: It is a different desert, but a battlefield all the same. Where there is war, there is peace somewhere else. But war has made them afraid of love, and afraid of living.





	victory anthem

**Author's Note:**

> **WARNING.** during our society/culture/politics class, there was a discussion on the causes of suicide excluding psychological conditions. it talks about people dying for a social cause, which is what the story is about. several depictions of violence. this is a work of fiction. i do not intend to discriminate any group or culture that this may appear related to. **please read at your own discretion.** standard disclaimer applies.
> 
> actual note: we're no longer _properhiatus_ , hooray! in today's episode of propermaniac and short, simple dialogue... we have ideologies pulled out of my ass. thank you for coming, please enjoy the show. maybe not. kinda heavy content down there, folks. not much royai actually lol rip

War is a necessity, some might say. Good would not exist without the presence of evil. Fighting is essential to create and preserve peace. It is a principle embedded deep in the flesh and blood of those who have fought for their nation since time immemorial.

Where there is war, Riza thinks, there is peace somewhere else. The desert has conditions in extremes – its silence a stark contrast to the gunfire and explosions only hours ago. When the earth was scorching then, they now find solace in their touches. It reminds them too much of the war back then.

The fire radiates a soft warmth, tracing the edges of their skin that has been thickened from combat. Roy’s hands ghost over her shoulders, broad and hardened from training. They used to be smaller, narrower, more slanted, but he knows they’re the same person. He rests his head in the dip of her chest rising and falling, hearing her calm, steady thumps.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m listening to your heart.” Her heartbeat was slow, _beautiful_ , from years of training – and he knows it’s from the way she breathes that she has shot people with her esteemed precision. This is the heartbeat of the person who has saved him time and again. He rolls them over so she lies on top of him, to let her listen to his heart, the one that she has been protecting all along.

“What does _my_ heart tell you?”

There are many things that his heartbeat tells her. The steady thrums take her to the battlefields, becoming amplified by the thumps and clacks of soldiers marching on, their breathing ragged and threatening to go out of their control.

It is not just the marching that she hears. She thinks of the trumpets and drums that will play them a song by the time they get home, but only hears the cacophony of the battleground. The sound of her gun clicking and firing echoes in the back of her mind. The whistle as the bullet whirls through the air and into the heads and hearts of her targets is a distinct pitch as it rings in her ears.

If he, too, listened closely, he would hear not just the cries of those he had burnt, but also the searing as fire peeled their flesh and bones. He would not hear the applause delivered to him, but the crackles as burn marks spread all over their skin. They both remember the thud of bodies falling to the ground, and the silence of the heart coming to a stop — not merely their victims, but their comrades, as well. Humans were beings weak in nature, their lives depending on something the size of their fist. This is how it has always been.

War does not harden boys into men; it does not bring honor under the pretense of bravery. Instead, war condones bloodshed through a farce called victory. All war has ever done to them – it has made them afraid. War has made them afraid of love, and afraid of living.

There are many things his heartbeat tells her, but she only says, “That you’re alive.” She leans in closer to him as he wraps an arm around her, his eyes half-closed. “It’s all that matters.”

There’s something wrong, they think. If war were a necessity, then people would have to be deprived of love and life. They cannot - and will not - do so with the burden of guilt. Their minds begin to wander to a world of true peace, but they end up losing each other before getting there.

They recall a strange scene – a group of Ishvalan people stealing cans of gasoline from their inventory. The ones who made it out without being killed poured it over themselves. After that, they would light their torches and set themselves on fire. It would spread to their hair and dig into their flesh. As the layers of their skin gradually began to blister and fall apart, some screamed, while others opted to silently endure it, all while steam hissed and blood boiled. Charred corpses ended up scattered across the ground among those _he_ had burnt. Roy could no longer count how many he had killed. The event had been long dismissed as an act of fear, guilt, and weakness.

He used to think it didn’t matter. They were all victims, anyway — but he remembered that they were not afraid. They would rather have died at their own hands rather than have their land taken, or killed by someone else. It is at this moment that they finally understand what it meant – _war is_ _a necessity_. There was something they had to fight for, only the meaning had been lost in translation since the beginning.

“I love you.”

It is nearing dawn. He cuts off the red threads on his gloves, and he cuts the gloves apart, too. Roy does not look back as he and Riza walk into the desert. Instead, he closes his eyes, hearing the sand crunch lightly under heavy boots. He hears it distinctly – gasoline flowing over themselves, flames crackling, blood boiling and sizzling. He finally understood why _they_ decided to burn themselves. The Ishvalans did not do it out of guilt or fear, and neither will they.

While what happens after the war remains unknown, there are three things Roy is sure of. First, no one will care if a can of gasoline went missing, and one of the cadets will have to borrow a lighter if they want to smoke. Second, Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye will not be returning with them. Third, they were not heroes — they will not live to hear the applause and music they do not deserve.

All the noise in his head is gone. He doesn’t feel the pain or hear himself scream – it is only her _I love you_ that resonates as the fire consumes them whole.

No one should be afraid of love or living.

**Author's Note:**

> so i chickened out like 10 minutes after first posting this so here we are now. sorry world lol. also to my writing workshop buddies u probably saw how my laptop yoinked... which is pretty funny considering i haven't written anything for months. i honest to god have the shortest simplest dialogue here but i hope it makes sense lmao


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